


silences made just for us

by NotPersephone



Series: Count and Countess Lecter [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Season 3, Romance, Shameless Smut, Winter, bedannibalprompts, happy marrieds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 04:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13069317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: Hannibal Lecter is searching through his memory palace. He looks for recollections of his time here as a child. Was the winter as long then as it is now? Was the snowfall as heavy? He is not sure; he sees everything in a brand-new light at present and the place that once held only nightmares now opens afresh in wonder before him.





	silences made just for us

The winter arrived with verve, claiming temporary dominion over the land in sheets of sleet and ice, with cold that seeped through the soil. All white with snow, the hidden landscape stretches beyond the limits of the forest like an endless ocean of frost. The wind soughs through the naked branches, as if searching for any signs of living creatures, but the forest looks abandoned. Except for two figures moving through the ghostly grounds.

Hannibal Lecter is searching through his memory palace. He looks for recollections of his time here as a child. Was the winter as long then as it is now? Was the snowfall as heavy? He is not sure; he sees everything in a brand-new light at present and the place that once held only nightmares now opens afresh in wonder before him.

But his mind does not let him linger on the memories; they are of no use to him. His attention keeps shifting to the woman walking in the distance. Her blonde hair is unbound and flowing smoothly behind her, the wind keeps lifting her locks and placing them back down again; her red coat is like a crimson flower blooming against the white cover of snow. She stops, inhaling deeply with a content look on her face, the delicate cloud of her breath hanging the in air.

He watches her closely, unable to stop wondering if she is warm enough. Bedelia scorns his attempts of keeping her wrapped by the fireplace, eager to explore the winter scenery. Hannibal observes as she walks briskly, high boots disappearing into the fresh snow. Her trail of steps is the only imprint on the white covered ground; her eyes survey the surroundings, enjoying the dreamlike vista stretching before them.

Luckily, she is less resistant to the idea of staying in bed and Hannibal ponders how to lure her back inside. His mind instantly falls back to all their nights together here, an endless marvel. They are in a habit of sleeping in the nude; it started in Buenos Aires, dictated by the heat of the nights, but then became a norm. They both enjoy the feel of each other’s skin as they sleep. For Hannibal, it feels like they are making love even when they aren’t.

_Swoosh._ Hannibal’s thoughts are interrupted by something hard and wet hitting him directly in the chest. He looks down in disbelief at the snowball falling off his coat. He looks back up at the woman standing nearby, a hand on her hip, legs planted firmly on the ground, watching him. Despite her petite form, she towers over the forest behind her; the naked trees appear to be bending down to worship their goddess. It is hard to believe that immaculate vision just threw a snowball at him.

“It looked like you needed to return to reality,” she calls, her tone serious, but a playful smile pulling at her lips, bits of white still clinging to her black gloves.

“I was thinking about you,” he responds at once. He would never forgive himself for neglecting her.

“Were you now?” she teases him further and he relaxes, more than happy to play along.

“Yes,” he advances towards her, his own heavy boots sinking into the snow, but his progress is obstructed by another snowball hitting him in the shoulder. He pauses and considers a counter attack, but cannot bring himself to do it. Instead, his steps quicken, eager to get to her, before she can stop him again.

He reaches her at last, extending his arm to circle around her, but she swiftly moves away, making him grasp nothing but air. She laughs as she slowly walks away, still facing him. He attempts to reach her again and his arm wraps around her waist at last. Bedelia turns abruptly, wanting to escape his grip, but trips instead and makes them both fall onto the soft blanket of white, with Hannibal on top.

Bedelia whimpers and Hannibal lifts himself up at once, resting on his hands, afraid he crashed her. He is always very gentle while lying on top of her, a practiced ease, and she always pulls him closer still. Perhaps the cover of snow impaired his senses. He gazes at her with worry, but meets twinkling eyes and a smirk. Bedelia has trifled with him, but before he gets a chance to respond, she places her hands on his chest, pushes him and shifts on top of him with remarkable effortlessness, one he knows so well from their intimate moments together.

Her nose is red from the cold, but her cheeks are flushed in a frolicsome way. She straddles him with her hands still planted firmly on his chest, holding him down. Hannibal’s arms rest by his head as if he was surrendering and he will gladly admit defeat to her any time. He does not mind the cold as he lies on the damp quilt of snow, looking up at her.

Her blonde hair shines against the grey clouded sky, eyes shimmering brilliantly like a pair of flawless sapphires. It feels like she has been blooming from the moment they arrived here and Hannibal loves nothing more than to see her like that. _His Countess._

He moves his hands to rest them on her thighs as she continues to smile, corners of her mouth curling up in apparent satisfaction; she is pleased with her conquest. Snow begins to fall anew, soft flakes swirling around Bedelia’s head as if eager to caress her, jealous of his touch.

“I think we should head back, it’s getting colder,” Hannibal suggests, brushing away one of the white specks off her cheek, and Bedelia gives him a frowning look for bringing her fun to an end. Still, she pushes herself away from his chest to stand up, but does not get a chance to do so. Hannibal’s hand wraps itself swiftly around her wrist and he pulls her back, making her rest on his chest.

This time he smiles and Bedelia gasps at the unexpected motion. His arms encase her as he rubs his cold nose against hers, before kissing her slowly. Despite the frost, her lips are warm and luscious; he tastes her again and again, forgetting that they are lying in the open. Bedelia hums, kissing him back with fervour, her hair shielding his cheeks as weightless snowflakes fall on his closed eyelids in an icy touch. The soft sound of their kisses is the only thing breaking the silence, even the wind pauses momentarily, holding its breath at the sight of them.

“We really-” he murmurs between kisses, “should go inside.” But his mouth is reluctant to part with hers. With a last deep kiss, followed by a gentle brush of lips against lips, he stops. Bedelia stands up, without further disruptions this time, and offers Hannibal a helping hand as he rises to his feet as well. She makes him turn around as she brushes the excessive snow off his back; with the new flakes falling leisurely, it seems unnecessary, but he does not stop her.

“There,” she trails her gloved fingers through his hair, “You no longer resemble a snowman.”

Hannibal raises an eyebrow at the comparison, but Bedelia says nothing more, just wraps her arms around his, huddling closer, a sign she’s cold. He keeps her close as they make their way back to the castle. The rush of wind causes the flurries of snow to dance around them, urging them on.

 

The mahogany door closes behind them and they are welcomed by a soothing warmth coming from the nearby hearth, suddenly springing to life. Hannibal attends to Bedelia at once, removing her scarf and her coat.

“I think you insist on all these layers of clothing, so you can take you time undressing me,” she notes with amusement as she takes off her gloves and Hannibal smiles, kissing her temple and slipping the coat off her shoulders.

They move towards the inviting light of the fireplace in the room next to the grand hall. Bedelia sits down on the spacious, burgundy sofa, their newest purchase from Italy, which managed to arrive before the snowfall. Hannibal perches next to her and gently removes her boots.

“Thank you,” she says with a smile, before curling her legs up and turning her face to the snapping orange flames and the heat. She appears so tiny in her black sweater, sinking into the pillows; Hannibal’s protectiveness takes charge as his eyes survey the setting, ensuring she’s comfortable enough. For now, at least, until he returns. With the final assessing look, he leaves the room and heads straight for the kitchen.

The kitchen is big and long; the massive, polished counter in the middle, the only standing remnant of the old décor, is surrounded by the most modern appliances, shining brightly with steal and silver, eager to spring to life and serve. The pair of high chairs compliments the counter; it was Bedelia’s suggestion as she enjoys eating breakfast less formally at times. Hannibal was sceptical of the idea, but gave in to her in the end. Even if they rarely use it in the mornings, as he makes sure to deliver her breakfast in bed, he likes when she sits here in the afternoon and watches him cook. And, most importantly, she really enjoys that too.

Now all these devices are overlooked, as Hannibal goes directly to the pantry, located at the very back, which he spent the autumn filling with goods. He searches through the shelves, deciding between the various bottles arranged neatly, according to flavour and hue; deep reds and opaque purples flickering invitingly under the overhead light. After a moment of deliberation, he chooses one of the red mixtures; a raspberry liquor. Taking two empty glasses already set up on the counter earlier, Hannibal fills them up and swiftly returns to Bedelia.

He gives her a glass, the red liquid now glowing against the brilliance of the fire and she accepts with a gentle nod. Removing his boots, he sits next to her with a drink of his own, watching as Bedelia wraps her hand around the glass and inhales deeply, checking what kind of concoction he has offered her today.

“Raspberry,” she says approvingly and takes a big mouthful; Hannibal can almost see it warming her throat. Nothing could warm him more than the fact that she likes it.

“You brought me a similar liquor back in Baltimore,” she turns her head to look at him, the blush returning to her cheeks as the alcohol begins to cruise through her veins.

“You remember that?” Hannibal asks, surprised, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair off her forehead.

“Of course, I do,” she responds at once before taking another sip.

Hannibal smiles, sudden emotions springing forth in his heart. It should not astonish him, really; Bedelia’s mind is as vast as his, but he was not sure then if he meant as much to her as she meant to him. He knows that now, but the openness of their feelings never fails to leave him at a loss for words. He sets his glass on the floor and moves closer to her, taking her empty glass away too, before putting his arms around her.

“I am warm now, thank you,” Bedelia says, placing her hands on his cheeks as a proof, but her fingers linger, gently brushing his face and she shifts to make herself comfortable in his embrace. The flames burst merrily in the fireplace, bathing them in calming heat.

“It seems like you are trying to melt me, Hannibal,” she says with a whimsical spark in her eyes, referring to his ongoing efforts to keep her warm.

“There is no need for me to do that,” he says firmly, looking back at her and she smiles as silent understanding passes between them.

Hannibal remembers when he first met Doctor Du Maurier and later heard some of his colleagues referring to her as “ice queen.” They couldn’t be more wrong. None of them was worthy to even steal a glimpse of her; it is surprising he hadn’t killed them without delay. They should be grateful there’s an entire ocean between them; Hannibal is ready to punish every man that had ever disrespected her. But now he can focus on something much more important; ensuring Bedelia has what she deserves. _Everything._ He leans back, bringing her to lie with him, as they stretch comfortably on the sofa.

“Do not let me fall asleep here. _Again_ ,” she gives him a stern look, but Hannibal merely smiles with pretended innocence. Still, she rests her head on his chest and hums in a low voice as her body relaxes. The hearth sparks more softly now, respecting their soothing quietude.

At times, Hannibal cannot believe he has everything too.

 

The night falls slowly; the moon is not visible through the heavy clouds still overlaying the sky, but the snow makes everything bright, like a cold neon light. The hearths’ loud crackles turn to whispers and then fall silent, the castle now relying on soundless heaters to keep it warm. One by one the lights go out in the windows, until only two remain.

The bedroom is filled with soft, amber light coming from the bedsides lamps and filtering through the silk canopies of the bed. The light in the adjacent room goes out at last and Bedelia emerges from the bathroom, clad in a white silk robe and encased in a fragrant steam.

Hannibal watches from the bed, already comfortable under the cover, as she walks towards her vanity, bare feet leaving delicate imprints on the polished floor, so unlike the ones they left on the snow earlier that day. She sits on the chair and applies her usual moisturizer, making the air fill with the warm scent of honey. Hannibal’s eyes widen slightly as she removes the pin from her hair and lets it fall over her shoulders in a cascade of golden curls. She gets up and smiles, noticing his stare; she undoes the sash of her robe and slips it off her shoulders, revealing her naked body. The silver light coming from the window envelops her figure, intensifying the perfect outline of her curves as she finally sits on a bed.

One can say that they have fallen into routine, not that such labels could ever apply to them; his heart flutters loudly against his rib cage each time he sees her that way.

Hannibal pulls the cover to the side, inviting her in and she settles herself in her spot, her back to his chest, their bodies coming together in a perfect fit, two halves of a whole. Her skin is still warm from her bath and it warms Hannibal in return. He inhales deeply, allowing the scent he knows so well to fill his nostrils. The notes of honey give way to the unique aroma of her skin, one he will never tire of it. His arm wraps securely around her waist, pulling her closer and she sighs, placing her hand on top of his forearm and pushing her feet against his. Hannibal does not think he could fall asleep now without her body pressed against him. He needs her warmth as much as she needs his.

Hannibal captures her feet between his, nuzzles her hair and closes his eyes. There’s no wind outside and the clouds are beginning to clear; the grounds are at peace, just like the couple falling asleep in each other’s arms.

 

As the quiet morning rises, Hannibal wakes up unhurriedly, his nose still buried in Bedelia’s hair, her chest raising slowly against his arm.

The clouds outside the window turned pearl white, becoming one with the icy expanse of the ground, making it seems as though they were completely snowed it. It wouldn’t be the worst notion, Hannibal concludes, gently kissing Bedelia’s hairline. His hand moves down her taunt stomach, delicately brushing her soft skin, before slipping between her legs. His touch is feather-like, not wanting to startle her awake, fingertips caressing her labia with utmost tenderness.

She appears to be still asleep, but her legs spread, which is the only invitation he needs. His fingers part her folds without hesitation and he presses more firmly now, thumb encircling her clit. His lips move to plant kisses along her jawline.

Finally, she sighs contently and turns her head, her face so close to his, their noses brush. Her eyes are still half-closed, but a wide smile adorns her lips.

“Good morning to you too,” she whispers as her hand reaches back to stroke him. The husky sound of her voice makes him instantly aroused. But she continues to caress him, her hand running smoothly over the hot length of him, until he groans and she laughs mirthfully, pleased that he gave in first. Hannibal tastes her smile with his lips as he kisses her tenderly. His own hand does not falter as he strokes the now swollen pearl, making her sigh once more. She then gently pushes his hand away and parts her legs wider, guiding him inside.

He enters her slowly, eyes closed, savouring the sensation of being enveloped by her so tightly, and then pauses, waiting her for to adjust. Time stops in that moment and Hannibal’s mind is crystalline, marvelling at the deep sensation of belonging, one he had never hoped to experience.

They begin to rock together, unhurriedly and leisurely, taking their time to wake their bodies.

“I am assuming we won’t be going outside today,” Bedelia purrs and presses her hips back to meet his thrusts.

“Is that a problem?” Hannibal asks as his hand grasps her thigh and he pushes in harder, finding the perfect spot.

Bedelia moans loudly in response, the sweetest music to his ears and he thrusts again, hitting the exact same spot.

“ _Don’t stop_ ,” her voice is low, but her tone commanding, one that makes Hannibal weak. He sweeps her hair aside to reveal her neck and kisses her there with ardour.

“Have I ever?” he murmurs against her skin and moves again as she wishes.

Bedelia’s chuckle turns into another deep moan, her hand reaching over to tangle in his hair, keeping his mouth on the sensitive spot on her neck.

The heat of their bodies and the aroma of sex fills the bedroom, overpowering Hannibal’s senses.

His hand returns to her soaked core, his thumb caressing her clit in sync with his thrusts, just the way she likes it. Soon, her hips begin to quiver and her toes curl, as he holds her close, sensing warm pleasure building up within her.

He keeps his mouth on her jugular vein, thumping intensely against his lips. Their hearts and bodies pulse in tempo. Hannibal closes his eyes as she comes, throbbing around him over and over, the most exhilarating sensation. His attention does not cease; his hand continues to rub her fervently, his thrusts are deep and hard, and soon enough, another wave of pleasure rises within her body, then crashes down, with more force than before. He feels her coming apart with bliss in his arms, letting go completely. Her cries suffuse the bedroom, sounding more exquisite than any symphonies echoing in the chambers of his memory palace.

Hannibal soon follows with a loud groan of his own; the release leaves his muscles heavy and his mind hazy. In the past, he was always quick to disperse the murkiness that inevitably followed any sexual encounter, not allowing his instincts to be weaken for even a moment. But never with Bedelia. He wants nothing more than to give himself to her whole, surrender completely and luxuriate in every sensation. In the euphoric mistiness, Hannibal can still feel the echo of her pulsing around him while the intoxicating scent and the heat of her skin surround him.

Suddenly soft lips disperse the blur as Bedelia turns around to kiss him. Hannibal rests his forehead against hers. They linger together in the florid afterglow, limbs entwined, eyes closed, their heartbeats becoming steady once more.

“I am peckish,” Bedelia’s words vibrate against his cheek, breaking the silence after a while. He opens his eyes and meets her brilliant, azure stare.

“What would you like?” he asks at once. She traces his lips with her finger while pondering the options.

“Egg white omelette, please.”

“Right away,” he seals the order with a kiss, “Do not move.” Another kiss is placed on her lips, before Hannibal leaves the bed and her warm embrace.

He puts on the robe and gazes at her one more time. Bedelia stretches slowly on the bed, sated and languid; her hair is mussed, locks spilling onto the pillow. The clouds outside part at last and the first rays of the winter sun unfold through the window, lengthening impatiently, until they reach her cheeks, accenting the dewy glow of her skin.

Hannibal Lecter had never felt more alive. He carefully places the image in his favourite room in the memory palace with the notion of committing it to paper later today and finally leaves the bedroom. It would be beyond rude to let his wife remain hungry after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be nothing more but a short drabble. The winter was left largely unexplored in my previous story and I wanted to write something from Hannibal's POV. But the story grew and couldn't stop writing it. I guess I am a sucker for exploring the simplest of things between them, because I believe these are the moments that mean the most to them, especially now. And obviously, nothing is more precious to me than Count and Countess.  
> Hannibal gave Bedelia raspberry liquor in my story "Season of Change"; it felt right to tie it all up together, since the other story was autumnal and this is winter. You can say that their relationship had come a long way. Honestly, there is no better couple. ♥


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